Page 47 of Live a Little!

He rolled his eyes. “Right.”

Making sure his badge was attached to his belt buckle and visible, his gun holster adjacent to the badge, he buzzed the super and identifiedhimself.

The man appeared promptly, wiping crumbs off his mouth before straightening to attention when he saw who itwas.

“Sorry to bother you, sir,” Jake said. “I was here before about Mr. Harrison in apartment408.”

The man nodded eagerly. “Yes. I remember. Are you looking for his forwardingaddress?”

“Forwarding address?” His gut clenched, and beside him Cynthia shuffled herfeet.

“Yes. He’s movedout.”

Jake took a deep, slow breath and kept his face pleasant with an effort. “As I recall, you promised to phone me if you saw or heard from Mr.Harrison.”

“I didn’t see him. He sent a couple of his friends, with a letter of instruction signed byhim.”

The hair started to rise on the back of Jake’s neck. He swore silently. One phone call from that super and they might have been able to track down Harrison through his “friends.” Yelling at this mental midget wasn’t going tohelp.

He said, with forced calmness, “Do you still have thatletter?”

“Of course.” The old guy puffed his chest out as if he should get a medal for keeping a letter when he’d allowed live suspects to get away. “Comein.”

Jake stood back to let Cynthia enterfirst.

“Are you with the FBI,too?”

“My assistant. Ms Smith,” he said quickly, before she could state her real name. “Did they give you anything else? Their names or proof ofidentity?”

“No. The letter looked all right, and I checked his signature against the lease. They paid cash in lieu of a month’s notice. I’ve documented the cash transaction and I can show you the deposit slip. Everything’saboveboard.”

“I’m sure it is, sir.” While the man was still nervous, Jake asked, “Could we take a look at hissuite?”

“It’s occupied. I just rented it to a nice young couple.” And so much for any evidence themoversmight have left behind. The elevatorwhirred.

“Did Harrison leave a forwarding address for hismail?”

The man nodded eagerly. “The same post office box in Hong Kong that was on his letter.” An elderly woman clutching a gray purse emerged from the elevator, stared at Jake and Cynthia curiously as she walkedpast.

Jake nodded slowly. “I’ll need that letter. You can take a photocopy for your files, and we’ll return the original as soon as we’re done withit.”

“Of course, of course.” The super’s nervousness had disappeared and now he seemed to be enjoying his involvement with an FBI investigation. As they entered his tiny office off the lobby, Jake wondered just who had moved Harrison’s stuff. And where they’d takenit.

It could all be perfectly innocent. But then why was his neck stilltingling?

The super’s pudgy fingers fumbled open an unlocked metal filing cabinet and began leafing through. As Jake watched, a look of alarm crossed the man’s face. Once more he flicked through, more slowly, then shook his head sharply. “I don’t understand. It should be right here.” He glanced up, sweat beading his forehead. “My wife must have moved it. Wait here, I’ll askher.”

Jake nodded, knowing damn well the letter wasn’t misfiled. It was gone—and with it went any possibility of an innocentexplanation.

Minutes later, a tiny plump woman bustled in with the nervous superintendent in her wake. She went through the same process of searching fruitlessly for the missing document. “I can’t understand it,” she exclaimed atlast.

The small, airless office held only two chairs and was suddenly overcrowded. Jake was about to take his leave, and kiss his last lead goodbye, whenMs. Smithpipedup.

“Perhaps we could go into your apartment and sit down?” she suggested with a reassuringsmile.

“Yes. Yes. All right. I’ll make some tea,” said thewife.

Jake glared at Cynthia, but got nothing back but a bland smile. Oh, she was going to hear about this. “What are you doing?” he demanded in a furious undertone as they trooped down the hall to the manager’ssuite.

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